


Initial T - The Red Mist of the Redwoods

by MasterOfNoots



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Cussing, Driving, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Street Racer AU, Street Racing, Suicide Attempt, tagging is hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23662855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterOfNoots/pseuds/MasterOfNoots
Summary: A very alternative universe where most operators are located in or around San Francisco, California participating in the illegal and underground world of Street Racing. Some are cops looking to curb the idea that those with modded vehicles have free reign to escape from the law, some are those seeking free reign on the streets of the beautiful city. The story mostly focuses on the up and coming group "Bay Area Speedstars" created by Fuze and Glaz, attempting to conquer the title of Drift Kings on the San Francisco Mountains. Will they beat the intimidating and far more experienced "Redwood Runners"?Note: this is like not linear at all it's just what im able to write in the moment but everything should have dates, maybe i'll fix it into a concise story some day.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov, Shuhrat "Fuze" Kessikbayev/Marius "Jäger" Streicher
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	1. Murder of the Mini Miata

Something New, Something Tuned

To say he loved the Miata was a little over the top, maybe… admired it? It certainly put up with every modification Timur decided to try on it and she hadn’t given up yet. Lost control into a ditch on a turn? Yes. Spun out in front of a cop for lack of traction on a rainy night in San Francisco? Yes. Overheated like a Canadian in the desert plains of Texas? Definitely. 

He had purchased her for $1,500 from an old man down the street who realized it was not the nifty efficient car he imagined it to be over the years but a tiny beast who slipped and slid when it rained far too much for any Californian and accelerated like an old woman in the supermarket. An exterior and interior of black, faded to shit and lovingly adorned with many a dent while sporting one pop-up headlight permanently propped open to conjure a constant winking face. Shuhrat had called it “The Cheeky Shit” and claimed it represented Timur to a T, small but surprising - eventually the power would hit the back tires to throw the little bitch forward and in the same aspect maybe the scrawny driver would finally hit his stride. 

“So, new turbo is fitted, everything updated - you think 15 PSi will be okay?” Timur patted the hood for good measure and looked at Shuhrat with a worried expression, he was concerned about going too hot into the turn again. For a stock engine, the Miata had shown an exemplary amount of promise. She was not one to be underestimated.

Shuhrat looked away for a split second, hiding the absolute shit-eating grin he donned knowing everything was about to go very south very quickly. Composing himself, he returned to Timur and his grin formed into a genuine smile, “Yeah I think you’ll get it this time, make it all the way down to the hairpin.” As much as he appreciated the man, he couldn’t help relive the foolish high of seeing the Miata ass up in a ditch, Timur stepping out onto the uneven ground then kicking the door shut before mumbling to himself how much he hated this piece of shit - why did he buy it, why did he take the time to tune it, to fit it with new parts? But oh, what would too much boost provide this time?

Something Black, Something Ruined.

The green Ford followed the small Miata down to the famous spot, an area full of turns and straight aways in the mountains that gave the locals a chance to relive scenes from ‘Initial D’ and the newly fascinating ‘Fast and the Furious’. Blinkers on to turn into the road and the journey began, Shuhrat carefully keeping distance but alert if Timur ran into any trouble along the course. His start was rather tame, testing out the new power she was putting down before he went full throttle. Tires squealed as she made her way around the first few turns, a noise he didn’t appreciate as much as his best friend did. He liked it best when it was a straight shot and the only squealing to be done was when the power lurched a large metal frame forward on big fat slicks, a V-8 roaring down the strip. After three consecutive turns he decided to turn the knob to 11 and find out what the upgrade changed, pushing fully on the throttle that threw the little Japanese car down the straight away. Timur’s hand hovered over the emergency brake as he neared the wide turn, promptly jerking it as he pulled the wheel hard in one direction with the other hand, throwing the rear of the car out around the turn. She held firm as he downshifted but when he gunned the accelerator again the RPMs dropped abruptly, resumed, and with little time to react a bang echoed the nearby redwood trees followed by the Miata’s hood slamming up to the windshield. The black vehicle, smoke pouring from the engine bay and seeping out of every crevice in her build, rolled down the asphalt before coming to a stop in a lot off to the side conveniently placed on another piece of straight away. Timur pulled the E-Brake before hopping out to inspect the damage he inflicted on his once great shit-ster. Shuhrat followed suit and rolled in slowly, V-6 humming sadly before shutting off next to the Miata. He emerged from the Mustang trumpeting the terrible and tragic TAPS tune, marching forward to the engine bay like an officer offering his final goodbyes to his fellow man.

“You put her down for good, Timur. She had a good run. Maybe it was the PSi, maybe it was your terrible drifting, but she’s had it. You want me to call my dad, haul her home?” The Uzbek squatted down to the low car and warmed his hands over the cooked engine, looking to Timur for an answer. He was silent per usual as he studied his mistakes and the parts where oil oozed from the blown head gasket, areas where the pressure had done her in. Eventually he hummed in response, to which Shuhrat pulled his phone out and speed-dialed his dad who answered fairly quickly for the hour. A quick conversation. This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

After a while of inspecting a metal murder they moved to leaning together on the front bumper, enjoying the warm air provided from the destroyed four-cylinder in the brisk August night air. Lights poked through the trees and eventually an old white Ford truck made its way into the lot, positioning the flatbed trailer perpendicular to the Miata where she was pushed back and quickly loaded in. Shuhrat jogged up to the window of the drivers side, knocking before he carried out a small conversation with his dad detailing where to take the car. The vehicle began its journey and Shuhrat made his way back to the ‘stang, unlocking it before they both got in.

“Do you want to… listen to your tunes? Pick your mood up a bit? I’ll suffer through The Cure if I have to. You know what, I’ve got it.” He picked up his backup CD case marked with his friend’s name, a thoughtful gesture that Timur appreciated, and flipped through it, landing upon a certain disk before popping it into the tray. A few button pushes then the familiar tone of Timur’s favourite band filled the Ford. Shuhrat started up the Mustang, making after his father on the lonely road back to his friend’s house. His fingers tapped along to the beat on the leather cover of the steering wheel, easing in to a rhythm of weaving the vehicle in and out on the road, bouncing between the white shoulder line and the yellow line dividing the road. “...Monday you can hold your head!..” Shuhrat began, voice cracking as he sang louder evidently getting very involved in the song although he was adamant he despised this band. “..watch the walls instead!” 

“It’s Friday I’m in love!” A familiar accented voice joined in and soon enough a smile had returned to the pale face. 

“Yeah! Saturday wait and Sunday always comes too late!” 

“But Friday never hesitate!” The two had formed an air band within the confines of the old Ford and if Shuhrat had any say about the matter, he was an excellent drummer. Timur? Yeah, sure, he could MAYBE play the guitar but we know who the real star is here.

When the two and a half vehicles pulled up to Timur’s house the two teens had fallen into a deep argument about the weight of meaning in lyrics which only ended when they heard the door close on the white Ford. They exited the Mustang, unpleasantly greeted with the strong stench of brine, and began working on unloading the Miata, making haste to get her in under the carport silently and quickly without waking Timur’s dad. It was the wee hours and he needed his sleep for the shift to come at the docks.

Timur nodded his thanks to the both of them and turned to enter the beach house, throwing up a peace sign to Shuhrat specifically before slipping in past the door.

Yet another car to fall prey to Timur’s naivete.


	2. Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timur takes a large and confident step forward in pursuing Maxim the only way he knows how: through his car.

The patrol spot was a regular, intended to keep control on the amount of racers who frequented the area for the thrill of trying to drift on the beautiful turns. Yet it was a Monday night, a day in the week when the racer count was low but one certain key player would make an appearance. At this point Maxim had figured out this was his night off, the only time he could enjoy himself and truly let loose. He had caught a glimpse of him once before, heard him a lot longer. The loud but sweet sound of the Korean motor echoed quite beautifully against the bark of the nearby redwoods, and the little whistle that followed every shift was the cherry on top. Maxim was unaware but his mind had already latched onto the distinct noise the red car made. Whenever it lurked on nearby streets, hidden but making its presence clear, he tensed up with eyes darting to every entry, exit, and road around his designated spot.

Tires squealed in the distance at the top of the road on the first turn breaking his train of thought. He was tense again as he looked towards the sharp turn that emerged out of the large redwoods, waiting wistfully for the wild driver that would speed by. Two more turns. A loud and consistent beat replaced a usually calm heart, why was he so worked up over seeing one car? He would never even be able to make out it’s driver, hidden by newly tinted windows that he couldn’t discern between being a practicality in the Cali sun or an extra measure in hiding his identity. 

Warm beams illuminated the trees surrounding the turn, but when he expected a sharp change of direction they only turned slightly as the red Hyundai came around. _They’re going slow?_ Two loud revs from the exhaust filled the air around them as Maxim watched in bewilderment, the vehicle coming to a stop on the two way right in front of him. A hand beckoned him from the darkness inside the car, a playful gesture to follow. The two sat in silence for a moment, only when the growing hum of the exhaust broke the electric feeling being shared did he see the amount of time that had passed. It was… amazing, the other had the uncanny ability to talk through his car. And it indicated he was getting impatient.

_“I won't wait forever. Come on. Let’s go.”_

His body moved itself, hand to the ignition and the Charger started with an abrupt rumble then moved through the lot towards the exit like a cartoon following the scent of a freshly baked pie. The two vehicles moved in tandem along the usually lonely road while the sounds flowing out of their exhausts complimented each other, a low grumble from the Dodge submitting to the sharp buzz of the Hyundai in the night air. In this moment, he let him take his hand to show him his world, the world he never appreciated nor took the time to look at. 

Maxim’s life never deviated from his perfect balance of work then home, truly a life devoid of taking any time to smell the roses. The universe had not graced him with the ability to see the beauty in things or delve into deeper meaning, yet tonight he found himself gazing at the tree line and surrounding objects a little differently. There was a certain harmony to the red and black theme of the car in front of him, careful trims of white here and there to accentuate the natural movement of the car’s body. Why had he chosen red? Is there an inner anger inside that can only be extinguished in the form of driving? Or is a hidden passion waiting behind those piercing eyes, asking to be let out upon a willing body? Those two contrasting ideas had been certainly seen on the night of their first encounter. Upon closer inspection he found a white graphic of cross-hairs placed neatly around the car’s badging, a small yet visible Russian flag sticker neatly placed on the top of the back windshield, and a license plate that read ‘REDHNY’. Something to be noted down in his earnest attempt to recreate the car in his mind for later use and an opportunity to mull over the meaning of the plate. 

The city came into view as they turned onto the highway looking over San Francisco, a million lights and lives moving steadily while his own felt suspended in air following the car that had captured his attention weeks ago. As the highway opened up, it allowed him to move into the other lane and the engine roared as he eagerly accelerated to match up with the red vehicle. Unfortunately, the other refused to lower his window as Maxim had done in an attempt to further familiarize himself with the mystery man behind the wheel. He smiled towards the dark window even if he wasn’t looking back at him before rolling up his own and continuing the drive. Eventually Maxim returned to his position behind the Korean car, mimicking the short bursts of acceleration that came from it every now and then. _Show off._ Although, he did appreciate the full declassification of every sound the exhaust and motor could make, it was aiding in completely rendering the car he couldn’t put a name to in his mind.

A familiar turn came into view as they had looped back around from their start, the excessive tire marks zig-zagging the road in front of the opening towards a downhill slope that had been foolishly nick-named “Little Akina”. But tonight there were no others here to participate in reckless racing, daring drifting, and downright illegal driving, only the love struck movement between two people who had in fact never truly met. 

Dread began to seep into his heart realizing they would have to again be apart for an amount of time without a countdown or definite end. Maxim was already trying to work up the courage to jump out of the Charger, introduce himself, ask a million questions until he took a long breath and put his luck in the hands of the universe. Things would happen as they intended. He need not push it. 

Time had begun to speed up again when they came around the first turn and he found himself displeased that he couldn’t fight the constant ticking of seconds and minutes. The second turn came far too quickly but he was greeted with the ever beautiful sight of soft white smoke billowing from purest black tires, red body panels moving in soft motion through the drift. He gave space for the next turn, allowing the tires to again paint the asphalt with black strokes and his eyes accidentally met the others’ through the less tinted front windshield. Had heaven and earth brought both their gazes together, a hint that it was meant to be? No, that was way too presumptuous for his mind.The red car jumped forward slightly in it’s sideways path, a small mistake on their part elicited from the small amount of contact between them but within seconds control was maintained when the other’s gaze returned to the road in front of them and up towards the lot.

The lot, the last page in tonight’s chapter.

Maxim sighed as they both pulled in and he returned to his regular parking space. At that moment he didn’t know what to expect but all expectations were low, nothing was going to replace the high he had experienced through the hour they rode together. Two white circles and red lights illuminated the surroundings brightly as the red Hyundai was thrown in reverse, carefully pushing itself back into the space parallel to the Charger and quite close for that matter. His heart beat fast again as the driver’s side window aligned with his. A soft click followed by a _pshh_ came from the car beside him but he did not have the courage to look up and face their final moments together in this hour. _Brumm-stu-tu-tu._ There he was again, talking through the car. Maxim was not aware a machine made of metal, plastic, all things hard and brash could sound so quiet, so sweet. An incorporeal hand lifted his chin and guided his gaze towards what had been waiting for him. His hand immediately fumbled to lower the window and take in the full image before him, in clear view a head of fluffy black hair that flowed down to a soft yet full beard, contrasting the plush red lips that smiled at him and the ice blue eyes that stared into his very soul.

“Be there.” The same hand that had beckoned him earlier now produced a small piece of paper, presumably with an address on it. Maxim reached out and took the paper between his index and middle finger, flaring out the rest of his fingers in a stupid try at physical contact against the other’s hand. But the driver was quicker, promptly retreating into the warmth of his car before pushing the car into first, lurching forward to return home. 

“Hey,” Maxim called, “What kind of car is it?” They stared at each other from their side view mirrors for a moment, before the black-haired beauty smiled sheepishly.

“Tiburon. A Hyundai Tiburon.” Before any more words could be exchanged, he had rolled up his window and made his exit. At first he left slowly, letting the other take in the sight before gunning it down the road, disappearing down the straight shot in mere seconds. 

Remembering the paper in his hands he glanced down at it, reading the address and noted the smaller writing underneath it.

_‘Come any time after 7, I’ll be waiting.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Maxim going to go home and listen to a Hyundai TIburon compilation? Maybe. What are you gonna do, judge him?


	3. Steps I've Took, Steps I'll Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timur pours out his feelings like a bucket, like an idiot, yet Maxim doesn't mind.

This was a lot easier when he thought about it in the confines of his room alone, filling in the missing pieces of the others body that hid behind the black fabric of a police uniform. To have the person who had been dancing with him in his mind directly in view and between his legs was overwhelming. The confidence Timur boasted minutes ago had melted very quickly when the door shut behind them and he was at a loss on what to do with himself. 

Small kisses were softly placed down his inner thigh which broke the intense thought process that involved calming his breathing and nerves, resulting in the embarrassing noise of shaky breaths to return. The change in energy prompted the other to move from his position to hover closely over Timur’s face, the tanned and scarred body slightly pressed against his own.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Timur moved the arm draped over his face up above his head and stared up at the other, contemplating how much he should overshare with yet another sexual partner tonight. A rough hand brushed his right cheek, trying to coax an answer out of him while at the same time noting the red mark stark upon an ice blue eye.

“How much trauma are you willing to hear in one night?” An honest question.

“How many times are you willing to see a person nod and reply ‘That sucks.’ ?” The reply elicited a beautiful smile, genuine and hopeful that his words wouldn’t fall upon deaf ears. They both moved to sit up together face-to-face, Timur reaching out to hold Maxim’s hand as a means to anchor himself down in case memories caught his ankles and dragged him into the depths of sadness. 

“Okay, so, uhm…” Questions bubbled up in his head. Where does one start? All the way back to high school, to her? Or is it more humane to summarize and allow the other to sleep, leave even? “Cliche beginning but there was a girl, and I was stupid for her. I got in deep. I kind of… turned in to her. And I wasn’t ready when she pushed _it_ on me, but I let it happen. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able regain the sense of control I had on myself I had before them. I didn’t want to relive that shit so I’ve been romantically checked out ever since. And I’m scared.” His voice broke, lip trembling. “When I saw you, I felt that kind of stupidness again. And I asked myself how deep am I going to let myself fall this time?”

Tears began to fall ever so slowly and the hand he had gripped for comfort squeezed back, breaking his mind out of the terrible tangent it had begun to travel on. All barriers of awkwardness, the reality that they in fact were almost complete strangers to each other, and the weight of the topic did not factor in when he leaned forward, gracefully falling into the other’s lap for a warmth he had been missing for years. Maxim accepted him with open arms, rubbing Timur’s back before moving upwards to hesitantly brush the black hair he adored. He pushed back into the touch, loving every scritch and scratch as well as every stroke through the plains of midnight tufts.

“I want this to go somewhere, okay. The endgame? I have no fucking clue but… I want this to happen again and again. I know. I know nothing has even gone down between us other than me opening up like a fucking idiot but I need you to understand: this isn’t a one night stand to me. I’ve gone seven fucking years deleting numbers, waking up alone and cold, driving a stranger to my house. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’m so tired.”

Affection wasn’t a natural trait in the other but there was that incorporeal force again, moving his hands- despite his every thought to keep a distance- to bring up the other in a tight embrace while allowing the tears of another to flow down his back on scarred skin. “That sucks.” Maxim murmured, gaining a pained but hearty laugh from Timur. He sniffled and apologized for the mess he made on his shoulder, produced by the fairly strong fit of crying, and brought up his head to bonk against the other’s before beginning to speak softly.

“Hi, I’m Timur Glazkov and I just cried like a baby in front of you.” Up until this moment they had remained nameless, a cautious attempt at keeping each other at bay in case the strong feelings felt individually were not reciprocated.

“Hello, I’m Maxim Basuda and I just watched you cry like a disgusting little baby.” But this was a break of the norm, tonight would not be like the others. 

“Oh, I’m disgusting?” It was so nice to see Timur’s smile in an up close fashion, beard curving so beautifully around the corners of his lips. If it hadn't been for the conversation in place Maxim would have joined his own against them, savouring the feeling of what he imagined to be the lips of an angel.

“Absolutely hideous.” He replied.

Timur placed a hand on Maxim’s cheek in the same fashion he had done against his, thumb following the scar that crossed his nose. Worn hands traveled down, connecting each scar that came in it’s path like a unique constellation that only Timur would see in the sky tonight. Satisfaction finally came when Maxim felt those red lips against his own, indeed soft. Things began to move fast but it was welcomed this time, things had all been laid bare between them which brought a strange reassurance. Timur had found a comfortable position latched onto Maxim as if he would disappear from this world at any second. His fears told him if he were to let go the room would deconstruct to a time and place where the other did not exist to save him from his monsters. The sounds filling the room mimicked the night before, low tones coming from he who followed, hanging under the sharp yet pleased sounds of the one who led. It was a beautiful harmony that both wished to recreate repetitively in any medium. 

The noise of the party was completely lost to the pair inside the room and it only returned when they attempted to sleep. Although, it wasn’t hard to concentrate on each other’s breathing and the little distinct sounds emitted when they shuffled around to reach a comfortable position. After some fumbling, a peace fell over the two allowing for a silence that pulled at Timur’s tongue.

“Thank you, for listening.” He placed a final kiss on Maxim, accepting the hum he got in response and let the tiredness envelope him.


	4. Can You Heal My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timur recalls a night covered in regret.

Despite the amount of pictures, videos, and art of the Tiburon, it had not always been the center of Timur's attention. In fact there had been something filling the gap between the burnt black Miata and the beautiful blood red Tib, an electric blue 1999 Honda Prelude that had sat on the back burner being built slowly and carefully. There had been plans to make it a track car, something to anger the muscle boys down at the strip yet those ideas had been long abandoned. 

A drive had sent her into the grave as they always did with any car Timur owned. But it had not been for his naïveté this time. Something ran much deeper in his heart that night, something beside his never ending need to push his cars harder than realistically possible. She had pushed him to his limits, cylinders of his heart pounding with the very last shred of energy they had left until it could beat no more. Taina had relined his engine for far too long, and something was going to break.

\--

The warm headlights of the Ford illuminated the rear end of the blue Prelude, an anchoring lamp in the haze of Timur’s mind as they followed the very familiar path in the depths of the redwoods. He had been feeling down all day and Shuhrat had suggested a drive in good intentions but it only made it worse. Timur had been constantly looking at the empty passenger’s seat, missing the body that had sat there for five years accompanying him on every single second spent on the road. Why did she suffer through sitting there if she hated his lifestyle so much, even endorsing the Prelude insisting he call it the ‘TSquare’? Timur knew the answer. He knew it very well. It was easier to use a person when they believed you loved them, and she had Timur deeply committed to her lies.

His grip on the steering wheel constantly wavered as the drive continued, imagining all the ways it could end and how it should be done. Nothing else crossed his mind, no one else entered the dark interior of his thoughts, no one could hear his internal screams drenched in the deep black waters of devastating ideas. All it took was one wave of confidence washing over him as he lay lost in the blackness taking root in his head, accelerating in the little distance left before letting go of the wheel, closing his eyes, and leaving the natural curvature of the road to take the Prelude into a large redwood. Initial impact didn’t hurt, in fact the mere seconds it took for the car to go from beautiful to mangled were bliss. Concepts, memories, and pain did not plague his mind in that moment. He was truly free.

Searing pain ripped through his body and the reality of what he’d done was coming into view. The bliss was gone. Consequences were to be paid. The world was blurry but it was there, it was a constant that would never falter and never let him leave. He heard everything, the sound of the Ford screeching to a stop behind him, the hurried shut of both doors, and the footsteps that quickly came closer. Shuhrat’s voice never seemed so comforting. And Marius, hmm… his voice was angelic, too. Maybe this was all a closing scene to his life. Was God gracious enough to give him the gift of being taken into heaven by his two closest friends? Mm, they were saying something now. Timur couldn’t discern if he didn’t bother to listen or if he physically couldn’t, but it didn’t matter. Just a few seconds more and this will be over. Movie credits will roll soon.

The pair tried to remove him from the crumpled blue Honda, only receiving a pained groan which developed into a scream when they pushed too far in their useless efforts. Words again. Frantic. Scared. Timur knew Shuhrat didn’t want to lose him, and Marius understood the pain it would cause his lover that led him to take the situation to heart as well. A hand carefully snaked under his legs to slide the seat back away from the mess created by the engine forced into the cabin, making sure not to cause injury in the process. One of them made a call while attempting to keep their voice clear amidst the tears falling, the pain and fear thick in their throat. The entire process felt like it took hours but eventually the man had been removed from the vehicle and laid on the asphalt, the pair tending to what wounds they could. 

“Am I worth saving?” A strained voice emerged from bloody lips.

“Yes, you’re worth saving, of course yes you fucking idiot.” Shuhrat didn’t mean for the words spilling from his mouth to be so angry, so upset but he felt the act committed before him to be purely selfish. “Do you understand, Timur? Do you fucking understand you could’ve died? What would I do without you? What about your dad? What would I have told your father? ‘Oh, I watched your son drive himself into a fucking tree and I let it happen!’”

Timur watched from lidded eyes as his best friend struggled with the frustration boiling inside him, the weight of what he’d done still upon the horizon but the tsunami would come in. Yes, it would come in, and it would drown him. “Shut up. It would only be a relief.” He had contemplated this over and over, how he was only a reminding pain in his father’s eyes. They had all known it from faded pictures in the old beach house, frames filled with a beautiful smile painted on red lips, blue eyes that offered solace in a dark world, and a face captured between black locks. Timur was the spitting image of his mother, a lovely presence lost to a moment of agony and joy. How could he betray what she had given him at that moment, an idea she so lovingly uttered on her last words?

Only a few seconds had been spent between the two before she spoke, looking up to her partner with a beaming smile that would be missed. “He’s strong, I know it.”

“H-How? How do you know?” His voice was timid, concerned that she should make an attempt to save her strength but eager to know the answer.

“It took all of my strength to bring him into this world and he bears it. He said ‘Mom! I’m going to be born today!’ and I was not going to stop him.” She kissed the newborn’s forehead, gently chuckling to herself. “Almost like a little bullet.”

With those last words, his father whispered the name. A name that would be branded in invisible letters upon the child’s skin, a name that would take him through life and many things. “Timur.” She nodded in approval when it graced her ears before slipping into a sleep she would not wake from. Yes, Timur, that was her boy. The boy born to be an immovable force of iron, piercing through travesty and obstacles without resistance yet the pain of being alone had stopped the bullet in its tracks. Why let such a stupid thing take his life?

The ambulance had arrived and Shuhrat had seriously considered leaving Timur to be alone on the ride to the hospital but he knew it was a petty route to take. He handed Marius the keys, trusting the Mustang to be in safe hands, and hopped inside to take a seat next to the man who was willing to leave him behind. Beforehand they had exchanged more heated words next to the destroyed Prelude, being that it was ironically keeping Timur from slipping out of consciousness. But that conversation had been laid to rest, now he was attempting to sprinkle humor into a dark night. _What will you crash next, hmm?_ The injured man conjured all kinds of images of expensive cars burned and blown to shit in a destructive driving record that only Timur could create. 

\--

Maxim traced the long scar along Timur’s right leg, enthralled in the story his lover recounted as they lay opposite each other in the backseat of the Tiburon. Timur stared at the bullet hanging from the rear view mirror and thought about everything he’d faced since then. When looking up close to the moments in his life everything seemed dim and dreadful, but things had grown brighter since then. If he had stopped driving after the crash, given up the life behind the wheel over a stupid heart-breaker he would have never met the man sitting across from him. Maxim was the man to heal his heart, forever changing the trajectory of the bullet that was his life and gracing it with the velocity it needed to continue its journey.

The round would endure, it’s path unwavering.


	5. Speedy and Salty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bay Area Speedstars take their cars down to Mexico.

“So, do you want to go with us to Mexico tonight?” Timur fidgeted with a tube in the engine bay of the Tiburon, forgetting for a second where the piece went before carefully guiding it to it’s home.

“Mexico? Why? I mean, yes, but why?” Maxim watched the other fiddle with more bits of the car, evidently working on something new for this ‘Mexico’ trip. He had sat comfortably for the past hour right next to his love, wondering where the idea had even come from but admittedly Timur sometimes got lost in the art before him. It became a problem every now and then when he sat in the garage for too long tinkering, forgetting to eat and sleep only to wake up for work in the next few hours hating the world.

“For fun.” He chuckled, stopping his work to look towards Maxim with a trademark smile. “No, but really, we’re going racing tonight. It’s cash day and they really want to see the Charger do some shit. I mean, we haven’t really seen it race.”

“So you want me, a cop, to race with you?” 

“Essentially, yes.” Timur lowered his voice and leaned over. “Alright look, Shuhrat and I have a bet. He thinks you’ll beat me, but I said you won’t.”

Maxim huffed at the idea of him losing. He wouldn’t call himself a car enthusiast or a racer but he had a firm belief in the power of his car. It had helped him in quite a few pursuits back in the day and he was sure it would deliver against a 12 year old import. Yet the Tib was not to be underestimated, she packed a powerful V6 that would rival the Dodge pound for pound and had been fine tuned over those years in trial and error. 

“If you throw the race... “ A small thought to himself, and an inhale that hinted at something. “I will wear the denim booty shorts and wash the Charger.”

“Oh fucking deal, Glazkov.” Maxim got up, pecked a wee kiss on Timur’s forehead and exited the garage to prepare himself and the Charger for tonight’s throw down. _He’s a chump, I would’ve done it for anything._

\--

The crew followed in an orderly fashion: Tiburon in front of the pack, Charger respectfully following, Mustang getting antsy, and Camaro riding peacefully in last. To be led by an import was an odd situation, most car crews stuck to their own kind. Dodge with Dodge, Honda with Honda. But the bond shared by this group was deeper than the kind of car they rode in, it was an understanding of each other’s struggles during the times before the blue house on Rocco Ave and how they would improve their lives together in it. At the end of the day they all enjoyed going fast and making their car sound beautiful. Be it the buzz of the Delta, a rumble from the HEMI, some growls from the 5.0, or the gallop of the LS1.

When they arrived tensions were already high. The magnificent Midnight Purple Skyline sat nearest to the mock starting lines made on the abandoned back road, watching new and old pass by. Most racers feared the roar of the 800 horsepower RB26 but Timur would never back down from facing her. The grudge still burned in his heart and in the engine of the Tiburon. They would never forget the night that had inspired the Hyundai to be reborn in fire and flame, emerging from the ashes with a terrifying 500 horses pushing it to the finish. A second chance down the Redwood course against the Skyline had him painted among colleagues as the bullet, a flash of the blood red Tib the last thing seen before death.

Other familiar faces were peppered in among the crowd here and there but they didn’t quite matter tonight. Cash Day Saturday? That one was for the boys. With some arrangements the tournament was set: Charger against Tiburon best 2 out of 3 then Camaro versus Mustang in the same fashion, after that winner facing winner for 6 grand flat.

This was a cruel moment for Maxim as they lined up. Yes, he was promised his fantasy for blowing the race but it would be so sweet to see the look on Glazkov’s face losing to the less vehicular inclined of the group. But he was faced with the reality that that would be a sour outcome to go home to. Of course, Timur would pout on the drive home, in the garage, all the way to the shower, and finally to the bed where he would steal the blankets out of spite. Mm, not fun indeed. Alas, he would give his love the win he deserved.

One of Marius’ friends had been elected to drop the flag and many had teased he give quite the show each time. Once. He would indulge them once in their foolish fantasies and the rest would be clean starts. Dominic gave a beautiful strut between both Tiburon and Charger, stopping at the right tire of the Tib to lean seductively on the fender.

“Ready boys?” He eyed both of them making sure they were giving him their full attention- there would be no late starts tonight. Timur revved generously, hoping to distract Maxim with the sound of the turbo whistling yet the other knew he had a weakness as well, responding with a hearty roar from the HEMI. Dominic had to call again for their incessant pissing competition to come to a stop and they ended with a heated stare at each other.

“Bitch.” Maxim growled.

“Jerk.” Timur spat.

The German lifted himself off the Tiburon then moved a little ways ahead of the vehicles, crouching down to check that their tires met at the same exact point before picking himself back up. He counted down slowly in the same fashion as a conductor would count the beats in a symphony and in a quick blur his hands went down. Black and red left the white starting line in harmony, Timur concentrated on shifting well while Maxim relaxed and let the new age carry the Charger to a win. Within seconds the boost hit the red car, sending it forward with a fury unmatched by any car in the crowd that night. One, two, three turbo whistles and Timur was gone down the strip of asphalt leaving Maxim in shame. A person down the line called the winner of race one before they were given the go-ahead to return to start. Race two was- as expected- a repeat of the one before it and the night carried on to welcome pure American muscle to the starting line.

Dominic threw a finger to the calling crowd that so insisted on a second round of hypnotizing hip-moving before checking the tires yet again, ushering Marius forward a little to match the Mustang. All good. 

“Ready?” 

Shuhrat and Marius met eyes, the Uzbek blowing a kiss to his love before returning to the stone cold mindset he needed for the races ahead. It was true, if he let himself look at Marius too long he’d blow the entire race. Driving an automatic is hard, you know? A lot of effort. In all honesty he had made his attempts to differentiate himself from Mustang culture but the green gecko still spun out like the black Miata that sat in the back of his mind when the boost hit too hard. This had him making sure he was holding tight to the steering wheel and watching his acceleration.

The two returned their gaze to the flagger ahead of them and nodded. Three. Two. One. GO. Shuhrat had admitted defeat when he blew the kiss just now, when he got into the Ford this afternoon, and when he helped swap in the LS1 into the Camaro five years ago. Marius had done extensive research into all the parts he required for the 700 horsepower build, something Shuhrat admired in him from day one. All he ever did was buy parts that people had mentioned at meets, sticking them in when he wanted to or leaving them out to play with later. The German always left little comments when they were in the garage together, hinting that he could help him build the Mustang into a crazy creation. Yet Shuhrat always ignored them, having his self esteem in the Ford pushed down over the years. Countless car meets left him tired of hearing what crowd he would take out next so he left the insane horsepower up to his friends. He liked to ride shotgun in the Camaro anyways.

Shuhrat rode calmly down the strip, listening to the LS roar next to him with every shift of a gear and power pushing the car back into it’s fat back tires. He was always impressed when Marius hit the right start that lifted the front end of the Camaro into the air, and he had witnessed it in all its glory twice tonight. If the universe was generous, he would see it a third time before the night ended.

“Glazkov! Streicher! Right here, right fucking now.” Dominic pointed to the starting line, calling in the Tiburon and Camaro for one last battle tonight. “Are we fucking ready!?”

Two engines fought for dominance in acknowledgement. Whine against whistle.

Count down. Liftoff. The black and gold Camaro squealed on black slicks, picking up the front tires a foot off the pavement. Both shifted furiously, Timur holding a lead until the last smidge of the quarter mile. Marius passed by with ease, front wheels planted on the ground now which pulled the Chevy forward past the red Tiburon. _No, no, no, fucking NO_ , Timur yelled to himself as he watched the muscle car fly by.

“Chevy by a fucking gap, dude!” Yelled the person from the end.

Shuhrat erupted into a joyful laugh, prancing around like a fool. “Fucking eat it, Maxim! Take the Tibby and your Timmy and go the hell on home.” A very serious death glare was shown in return, but in the high of a win he couldn’t produce one fuck to give.

\--

The night continued past Mexico, the group doing a few more rounds of races on the highways to taking a few pictures downtown, and then finally gassing up. Four photographs were keepers. One Maxim lighting a smoke in the Charger, definitely caught off guard by the flash and too content to retaliate. A calm Marius shining the speckled gold of the Camaro’s paint, sweat placed perfectly on muscles to almost look like a sexy pin-up for a calendar. He had smiled playfully at Shuhrat after, flashing a quick pose before returning to care for his baby. Of course one picture was a brooding Timur contemplating what he needed next to overtake the Camaro which was punctuated by every sip of his gas station orange juice as he looked out towards the water. And without fail, a closing shot of Shuhrat squatting in front of the Tiburon, smiling ten miles wide with fingers in the shape of an L to announce the results of tonight's runs to the world.

Maxim had quietly joined Timur in the garage once they got settled, snacking on some chips before he decided upon disclosing a little helpful information.

“You know, Shu spoke the T-word.”

Timur froze from his work on the Tiburon, rolling back on the red stool to look up at Maxim leaning on his Charger. They both exchanged glances in an attempt to confirm the validity of the accusation, Timur not sure if he was attempting to start an inner crew war for the hell of it. Pranks had always been Marius’ and Dominic’s forte, but Timur was known to dabble when he felt particularly insufferable and Maxim enjoyed the sweet treat of chaos every now and then.

“This is a very serious offence, you know. Punishable by… _death_.”

“Oh, I know. It was something along the lines of, and I quote, ‘Take your _Tibby_ , and your _Timmy_ , and go the _hell_ on home.”

Timur squinted, going over the several possible ways he could take Shuhrat out before getting up to act upon an idea. “Still on the couch?” Maxim nodded in response, moving to follow as the shorter man made his way into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, crouching down to grab a cold water from the bottom shelf before quietly making his way to an unsuspecting Shuhrat. A quick unscrewing of the cap. The tilt of a bottle. One cold and wet Uzbek. Timur leaned in just a hair away from Shuhrat’s ear. “Eat shit. And Die.”

Shuhrat cursed in his mother tongue. _Snitch._


	6. Never Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old wound is healed.

JANUARY 21st, 2020

2 AM was an ungodly hour to be called. Yet there he was, staring at his phone and the vaguely familiar number looking back at him. There wasn’t much of his heart left after twelve years of pain, but what was there had been strong. It was always pouring forth, helping and loving who ever needed it whenever they needed it. And with a heavy sigh, he answered.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Timur could hear the distant sounds of the ocean waves, the heavy wind pushing against the structures of San Francisco. It was definitely an area well-known to him.

“I-... Look I got hit. Some fucking jerk pulled out right in front of me. Didn’t see me.” The woman on the other side of the call did her best to hide the emotions that she couldn’t use against him, but a silent reluctance slipped through. “Do you.. think you could help me? All I'm asking is to take me home, the bike is covered. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Mm, yeah fine. Where you at?” Such a thing wasn’t necessary to ask. Timur knew the route to his old house, the house where his dad resided and the Miata sat, the house where he hurt the most. 

Starting up the Tiburon was not a simple task tonight. He sat there in the driveway looking for any possible sign this would be worth it. What would he gain from reopening an old wound? Closure? That wasn’t needed nor important anymore after twelve years, the scar had already set in his heart. Yet when the purr of the engine filled the cabin, the universe spoke. It wasn’t for himself. No. This was for the countless nights he flinched under Maxim’s touch, reacted heavily to a minor change in tone, and clawed at scarred skin when he awoke abruptly at certain times of the night. He looked to the bullet, a constant in his life the same way Maxim was. _The round will endure._

The drive there was no better. It’d been years since he stared at the empty passenger seat similar to the seat in the Prelude. Knowing there was someone at home who should be filling that very spot hurt even more, but this was a trip he would have to take alone. He resented every reminder that passed by his window, a living testament to the pain he felt for so long. Over the years he had made earnest attempts to reclaim them with his friends and his love, but it was just like painting over a wrong blotch of colour. Timur knew it was there, even remembered the exact time it occurred. Nothing would ever replace the memories that built his San Francisco. All he could wish for was that one day he could wake up and think nothing of them.

When she appeared in the beams of the Tiburon’s warm headlights, every emotion imaginable had stepped forward. They were a large ways apart yet her knife rested gently above his heart, ready to strike. Fury- no, sorrow- no, jealousy- boiled hot in a pot, a stew she would sip devilishly while red dripped from his chest, knife snug between flesh and muscle. She rose to her feet and stepped towards the red vehicle, entering with a look on her face that had grown to raise immediate fear in him.

“Where’s the blue car?” _The Prelude you mean._ Foreign hands poked and prodded at the interior of the Tiburon, becoming acquainted with it like she would ever see it a second time.

“Gone. It’s the Tiburon now.” Timur did his best to stand his ground but she had remembered all his weaknesses, yet he had forgotten hers in an attempt to save himself. 

“A Tib, huh.” She giggled and shifted too close for comfort, leaning on the armrest to make a move that was unwarranted. Her hand rested on his leg, her touch burning where it sat and he almost puked knowing this was real, this was happening. “My _Timmy_ in a _Tibby_.” 

“Don't. Please don't.” 

There was a pressure that didn’t allow him to stop her, a malicious force that held him to the leather seats of the Tiburon. _‘Dude, you’re caught in the deadlights again.’_ Shuhrat would tell him, waving a hand in front of his eyes while they drove the regular route. Usually there would be a helping hand to pull him out, a funny song played through the radio, a stupid joke to be told. Her hand moved from his thigh up to the thick fluff of hair that peaked out from under his beanie, scratching what she could. 

“You grew it out, it looks so nice.” She took the beanie off, placing it in her lap then returning to brush through the waves of black her eyes had never seen before. 

“I don’t want this, Taina. You have to know that.” Words could never stop her. They never did. “I’ve come so fucking far. I’ve come so fucking far you’re not going to fuck this up.” 

The already quiet sound of a song playing through the Tiburon was further dampened, the rumble of a Charger’s exhaust coming through the speakers. Maxim’s text tone. He was more than likely concerned as five years together gave you the odd ability to tell when something was wrong. She picked up his phone, swiping the message open to inspect it’s sender eliciting a delighted gasp. 

“Maxim, hmm? Such a hard man to get information from. No wonder I didn’t put it together.” Timur silently thanked Jordan for keeping his mouth shut for once, and to Jack as well, lest Taina come running to destroy another beautiful part of his life once more. She was here, yes she was here now to destroy it but five strong years between him and Maxim had given him the strength to fight. Tonight would be the night he faced the demon lurking in his mind. 

“You know you hurt me, right?” 

She hummed in response, not willing to face the blackness inside herself as easily as he did. She withdrew her hand from atop the plume of hair and returned the phone with an address in the search on Maps. Directions began to speak out from the Tiburon, slightly overpowered by the growl of the V6 departing. A constant buzz filled the silence between two black leather seats that supported two people once lovers. 

“Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, looking for you. And I cry.” His hand moved from the shifter to rest facing upwards on the armrest, inviting a contact that he had pushed away. Her fingers slid perfectly into the spaces between his, clasping together as they had once did many times before, in a fashion that was near routine. 

“I cry, too. I wake up and I start grasping at someone who isn’t there. I start panicking. But… I did it, I… I left you behind.” Taina looked towards him, eyes begging for forgiveness in a world where she did not deserve it. 

Their contact broke when he moved to push the Tiburon out of gear and pulled the E-brake to park the car. Timur shifted in his seat to move closer towards her, leaning on the arm rest and once again offering his hand to which she slowly returned to. He rested his head against her shoulder, allowing the tears to flow gently. 

“I-...” She lost herself in the guilt that trapped words in her throat, swallowing her pride down before laying it out for her broken soldier. “I’m so sorry, Timur. I’m so sorry.” 

Taina retracted her hand from his grip to pull him into a hug, as uncomfortable as it was in the cabin of the Tiburon. She combed her fingers through his hair, scratching the spots that made him push back into the touch, something she had never forgotten over their time apart. In this moment tears did not fall from her face. It was not any indication of how she truly felt, but Taina knew he desperately needed someone to anchor them down or else Timur would begin to slip from the face of the earth. 

Rain began to patter on the panels of the Tiburon, bringing them both to the tangible side of things. He reluctantly shifted back into the seat, Taina doing the same before they both exhaled in unison. 

“I forgive you.” 


	7. El Rito

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip home brings back a fond memory.
> 
> (warning: there is some terrible attempts at Spanish)

JUNE 9th, 1998

A little village situated in the crook of the mountains that encased the Carson National Forest was what he had called home since leaving Kovrov. The locals were surprised to say the least when he drifted into town, speaking a language they had never heard, but had welcomed him with open arms. The owner of El Farolito, a well-known local restaurant, had provided him a place to stay in the small garage apartment, the deal being he would work there for shelter.

Sunday mornings were always busy and it may not have been the best day to introduce a new worker, but it wasn’t hard to grasp the concept of washing dishes and preparing what little food he was familiar with. Some of the workers weren’t particularly fond of a new face but as the sun dipped down over El Rito he had grown on them. He didn’t talk at all, made very little movement, extremely polite- just the right qualities for everyone to agree on him. 

“Have you even asked him his name, abuela?” The store had come to a close as the clock struck eight, and questions were loaded in the barrel to be shot and asked.

“No, he does the job and doesn’t complain, you think I need to ask him his name?” Lupe quickly counted the money in the cash register, eager to go home and enjoy the newest episode of her telenovela.

“Ay dios mios, I’ll do it. Hey,” Estefanie gently tapped the man’s shoulder, evidently caught up in tidying the tables as he jumped at the contact but turned to face her, “what’s your name?”

No response. A different language perhaps?

“Como se llama?”

His brows furrowed, attempting to scrape up the bits of words and phrases he remembered from his mother. “Me llamo Maxim.”

She was pleased at the response but her curiosity itched for more information, who was this strange man? Where did he come from? Did he bear ill intentions or was he truly just lost? Those questions would be answered in time, and she considered he may not feel comfortable to answer anyways. “Cual es tu apellido?”

“Basuda.” Now that struck something between all the workers, they had begun laughing and giggling like schoolgirls.

“Don’t tell me your last name is trash!” Marisol howled. The racket they were causing was only met with a confused look, and the girl took to pointing at the trash leaning against the wall waiting to be taken out when they locked up. “Basura, es trash!”

“Leave the poor boy alone!” Lupe hounded, yet she couldn’t hold back her smile. Eventually everyone had collected themselves, and she ushered everyone to head out, locking up when they had all exited. Marisol and Estefanie clamored into the backseat of the white Blazer already commenting on the customers they encountered during the day. The foreigner shyly followed behind the old woman, and with a point of her finger she instructed him to sit in the passenger seat. He carefully took to his assigned seat, hands tucked between his thighs in a sheepish manner that the girls cooed at, “ _Aw look at him, so cute. Pobrecito._ ”

Lupe swatted at them from the driver’s seat as she got in, “Estupides, see one boy your age and you go crazy.” She turned the key, firing up the Chevy before slowly exiting the parking lot to the main road. “So, mijito, de dónde eres?” 

“Russia.” The two girls gasped, quickly turning to each other to gossip about their newfound interest while Lupe nodded in acknowledgement at his respectable one word response. 

“Well, I hope you’ll like it here. We don’t have much but it’s good living, mijo.” An old house came into view- not yet familiar, not yet home - as they pulled into the driveway. Maxim was nearly out of the car before the woman gently reached for his hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Por qué no te unes a nosotros para la cena?” He nodded in response before jumping out of the Blazer, trailing after the family who all hastily made their way inside, excited for the menudo that was to come. 

MAY 14th, 2020

The restaurant still brought comfort to him, even if he had not seen it in years. Marisol had immediately put on his favourite song when she saw him stroll in, putting down her phone to greet him with a bear hug. “Look who returned, trash boy!” 

“The one and only,” he replied, returning the hug with as much force as she had put on him.

“Stop, you’re going to crush me!” She pulled back, giving a soft punch on his chest in retaliation for the attack.

“Unlike you, I know my strength.” Marisol threw back an icy stare at the implications of his response, returning to the register as a customer patiently waited to be cashed out. The patron waved, an old friend from the ranger station enjoying a hearty lunch before work. Maxim returned the greeting while a few others said their hellos, excited at the hunter’s return.

“I guess you’re popular around here, huh? Who would’ve known.” Timur shuffled towards the nearest open table, sliding in on the glazed wood before searching diligently for a menu. The twenty hour car ride had left him extremely hungry, even if they had been snacking on fast food all the way here. He wanted a genuine meal for once. Maxim took his time to sit down, relishing in the nostalgic memories the building gave him. The hunting party for a menu had been called off, the one man search group returning to trace the swirls and straights of the wood table. “How am I gonna know what to order if there’s no menus?”

“They’re psychic, Timur. They know what you want already, ooo!” Maxim wiggled his fingers in a mystifying manner in front of the other’s face, only drawing the black eyebrows into a terrifying angle. “They have spoken. You want me.”

Timur defiantly faced away from a kiss, instead receiving a peck on the cheek that had him blushing despite his attempts to remain grumpy. Marisol arrived at the table after things had calmed down, putting both hands down on the table to announce her presence. 

“Alright, what do we want? No, wait, don’t speak.” She held up a finger and looked sternly at Maxim, reading his expression clearly. “Ah, menudo. Two. Coffee? Sí, coffee. And him, hmm, orange juice, huh? No problema.”

The woman hastily made her way back to the kitchen, determined to prepare the most fantastic menudo for them.

“See I told you, psychic.” 

Timur shook his head, but rewarded the bit they had presented him with a smile, “I love you.”


End file.
